


your bruises, a universe

by slackeuse



Series: the cosmology of us [1]
Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: 2park!delinquents, M/M, is this angst idk, referenced attempted rapes - a warning, sorta slowburn i guess, the high school au i never thought i would write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 01:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12495204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slackeuse/pseuds/slackeuse
Summary: Park Woojin is not the only one who notices the permanent bruises on Park Jihoon's knuckles, but he's the only one who decides to follow Jihoon out to the rooftop when the upperclassmen call him out. He's also the only one who helps Jihoon kick their asses, the only one who makes him laugh, and probably the only one in love.(Park Jihoon would disagree with that last one.)





	your bruises, a universe

**Author's Note:**

> warnings:  
> references to attempted rape  
> underage smoking  
> there's a lot of fighting  
> there's some blood

the necessity  
to protect you  
overcame me  
my beloved  
i love you too much  
to remain quiet  
while you weep  
i rise to kiss the poison out of you  
wipe your bruises with my palm  
i resist the temptation of my  
tired feet and keep marching  
with tomorrow in one hand  
and a fist in the other  
i will carry you to freedom  
_valentine’s day ode to the world_ – rupi kaur

 

 

 

 

Woojin can’t be the only person who notices the permanent bruises on Park Jihoon’s fists, let alone the random cuts and scrapes that show up on his cheekbones, above his eye, on his lips. It’d be even harder not to notice when a classmate disappears for a few days and then comes back with his arm or leg in a cast after calling Jihoon out. Or doesn’t come back for a week because he was suspended or hospitalized or both. Or never comes back because he was expelled.

At some point, it should be obvious that Park Jihoon isn’t someone to mess with. No one seems to learn, though. Then again, it’s an all-boys alternative school and no one seems to be learning anything in this fucking place.

Woojin shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t be noticing either. But he does. He notices Park Jihoon despite everything that tells him to stay the fuck away.

 

 

It’s a Tuesday. Park Jihoon is on his way out to buy something for lunch when two older boys stop him at the door. Woojin recognizes them because they’d done the same thing to him when he’d transferred here a year ago. He’s sitting too far away to hear what they say, but Jihoon follows them out of the room.

When Woojin glances around, hoping that maybe this will be the time that someone tries to stop Jihoon, he just finds that his classmates are looking everywhere but the door. Woojin’s not surprised. No one had stopped him, either. And Jihoon’s broken at least two noses in this classroom, so some of them might be bitter.

Usually, Jihoon comes back at the end of lunch, but this time he doesn’t. Class starts and his seat in the back near the door is empty and the room is tense. Everyone is waiting for the teacher to say something. Ten minutes in, he finally clears his throat and points his dry erase marker in the direction of Jihoon’s empty desk.

“Does anyone know where he is?” the teacher asks.

The class says nothing, although they all know he’s probably up on the roof with bloodied fists and two even bloodier bodies at his feet.

But what if that’s not the case this time?

Woojin shouldn’t care, but he raises his hand. “I know where he is.”

The teacher blinks. Probably he didn’t expect Woojin to be the person to speak up. Woojin has his own reputation in the school. Mostly because everyone knew exactly who he was before he transferred. There isn’t a way to get expelled for fighting from every school in the area and not have a reputation. For the record, Park Woojin never started any of the fights that got him expelled. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, helping the wrong person get out situations much like the ones Jihoon finds himself.

Which is why Woojin shouldn’t care. If he cares, he might get himself in trouble again, and he’s been doing so well and his mom is so proud of him.

“I can go get him,” Woojin volunteers despite himself.

The teacher’s shoulders visibly relax, and Woojin has to keep himself from visibly rolling his eyes in response. Without waiting for the teacher to give permission, he gets up, stuffs his hands into his pockets, and leaves. When he’s shut the door behind him, he can hear the teacher pick up the lesson where he’d left off. As if anyone is paying attention.

He debates whether he should just smoke in the bathroom and then go back to the class, say he looked but couldn’t find him. That’d be the right thing to do. That’d be the smart thing to do. Instead, he takes the stairs up to the roof by twos and he’s met with a blue sky and the view of suburban rooftops.

Jihoon is standing in the middle of four upperclassmen, all groaning and swearing. He has a cigarette perched on his lips, his eyes closed, his black uniform jacket missing and his white collared shirt ripped at the shoulder and unbuttoned. When the door slams shut behind Woojin, Jihoon’s eyes snap open and stare him down.

If looks could kill, Woojin would be choking right now.

“You didn’t come back,” Woojin says because he’s pretty sure if he doesn’t explain himself, instead of rescuing Jihoon, he’ll need to be rescued from him. “The teacher asked.”

Jihoon takes a drag of his cigarette, then rests it between two of his fingers. “Yeah fucking right. He doesn’t give a shit what happens. He noticed I was gone and had a brief moment of concern that his ass would be on the line if I didn’t come back. So he asked if anyone knew where I was, and you were stupid enough to actually come find me. You can go. I’m not going back to class today.”

That’s when Woojin should’ve given Jihoon a big fucking salute and walked right the fuck back inside. “Why not? You always come back. And you’re standing, so you can’t be hurt that badly.”

“I don’t want to go back.”

“That’s stupid. What’s so different about this time? At least go to the nurse’s office.”

“Who said I wasn’t going there?”

“If you were, wouldn’t you be there already?” Woojin takes out his pack of cigarettes now, too, taps it until one sticks out enough to grab with his fingertips, and bites the end of it lightly while he searches for his lighter.

Jihoon finishes his. “Why does it matter to you.”

Woojin realizes he left his lighter on the back of the toilet seat when he pretended to go to the bathroom earlier and he swears to himself. “Give me your lighter. And who said it mattered to me? It’s just that if you don’t come back, they’ll just come at you stronger. And it looks like this wasn’t so easy this time.”

“I’m not giving you shit.” Jihoon reaches down and tugs off a jacket from one of the boys he’s destroyed. His knuckles are bloodier than Woojin’s ever seen.

Not that he’s worried.

“And if they come,” Jihoon continues, shrugging on the jacket then starting to button his shirt. Woojin catches a flash of abs that he wishes he could unsee. “I’ll just do the same as I always do. So fuck you and fuck your fake concern.”

Then he smiles, and Woojin wishes he hadn’t because Park Jihoon is too damn pretty for this school, too fucking beautiful to be real. Even with the start of a black eye. Even with a split lip.

When Jihoon passes by him to get to the door, he takes the cigarette from Woojin’s lips. “These are bad for your health. You should stop.” He replaces it between his own, and then he’s gone and Woojin knows he’s fucked.

Super fucked.

 

 

On Wednesday, Jihoon doesn’t come to school.

 

 

Thursday’s lunch brings two more upperclassmen. This time, Woojin doesn’t bother to check if anyone is going to try to help Jihoon. He knows no one will go. So he waits five minutes, grabs his pack of cigarettes and his new lighter, and finds his way to the roof.

There are six of them, backs to the door, and just one Jihoon, looking as cocky as ever. He has a cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling into the light breeze, and a chuckle rolling off his tongue.

“So you want me to give you a little strip tease and then open my legs for you?” Jihoon asks. “Well, wouldn’t that be too easy? I’ve sent so many people to the hospital already, it wouldn’t be fair if I just gave it up to you because you brought more friends than they did.”

_What._

“You’re not going to win this one, though,” one of the shorter ones says. “It’s not like I want to hurt you. I’m not a sadist.”

Jihoon takes a really long drag from his cigarette—long enough that even Woojin’s chest aches a little and he can feel a cough clawing at the back of his throat. “You just want to rape me. I get it.”

 _What_.

Woojin lets the door slam shut behind him. Shoving his fist into someone’s face has never felt so fucking good before. He can feel this asshole’s skin break under his knuckles, can feel his cheekbone scream against the strength of his punch. The bitch goes down. He does not get up.

Shit hits the fan, and although Woojin hasn’t had to beat anyone down in a few months, he hasn’t forgotten how to make someone taste their own blood. He’s also grown a couple centimeters and he’s never been this fucking pissed off before.

All he can think about is all the boys who called Jihoon out to fight were actually calling him out because they wanted in his pants. He can’t even count how many of them on two hands he’s seen Jihoon follow out of the classroom. And Woojin could’ve helped and he’d just sat on his ass and hoped the situation would figure itself out.

What would’ve happened if those boys had been successful?

Had they been?

Woojin lets out a growl as he lays waste to the last boy standing, and although he’s clearly not going to get back up for a few, he slams his fist into his face again and again and again until he’s being dragged to his feet.

“The fuck are you doing?” Jihoon asks, shoving him a good few meters away from the boy he was just beating into the ground. He’s somehow still smoking. He's also far stronger than Woojin had imagined for his size. “If you’re going for murder, you might want to pick a better victim. And what the actual fuck are you doing here?”

“But they were—they wanted to—fucking hell, Jihoon.” Woojin reaches out to check to see if he’s hurt, where he’s hurt, if he needs to go to the nurse or to the hospital, and then he realizes that the last thing Jihoon would want is anyone touching him. So he doesn't. “Does anyone know why you’re getting into all these fights?”

“First, I’m fine,” Jihoon says, as if he knew Woojin was worried. “Second, does it matter? Fights are fights. And you shouldn’t be here.”

For a moment, Woojin almost agrees with him. Maybe it doesn’t matter if the only thing that happens is these dipshits getting their asses handed to them. Then he remembers that intentions matter, especially in cases like this, because if it really was just about fighting, wouldn’t they have stopped a long time ago when they realized Jihoon could hold his own? Instead, they just keep bringing more and more people along with them, and eventually they’ll bring too many people for Jihoon to handle alone, and then what? What happens then?

That’s why Woojin _should_ be here.

“No,” Woojin says, his voice just rough enough that he thinks he sees Jihoon flinch. “Fuck that. I’m glad I came. You don’t need to be doing this alone. You shouldn’t be doing it alone. I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Jihoon glares at him, but Woojin doesn’t back down. So Jihoon rolls his eyes and sighs. “If you think you’re going to get on my good side and then get in my bed, you’ll find out the hard way that I don’t work that way.”

“Wow, do you think everyone’s attracted to you? Or do you just think everyone’s that shitty that they couldn’t possibly just want to help you?”

“Both.” Jihoon finishes his cigarette and pulls out another, palms his lighter.

This time, Woojin steals both from him. “Then I guess I’ll be a pleasant surprise. I thought these were bad for you?” He proceeds to cradle the cigarette on his bottom lip and lights it.

“Go ahead, get cancer. I have a feeling that’s the only way I’ll get rid of you.”

Woojin laughs. He can’t remember the last time he laughed, but fuck, it feels good. “You’re probably right.” Then he offers the cigarette to Jihoon. “It’s nice doing business with you, Park Jihoon.”

“I still wish you’d fuck off, though.” Jihoon takes it, and Woojin does not fail to notice the way his chest tightens just a little while he watches Jihoon place his lips where Woojin’s just were. He offers it back.

“You won’t think that tomorrow when there’s seven of them.”

“There won’t be. They’re not that smart.”

They finish the cigarette together, then head back to class as the lunch bell rings. Woojin does not miss the way the entire class looks at him when they return together.

 

 

On Friday, Woojin has to admit Jihoon was right. Two more boys call Jihoon to the roof, but Woojin doesn’t bother giving them five minutes. He lets his chair screech as he pulls away from his desk to stand, then follows right behind Jihoon down the hall, up two flights of stairs, and onto the roof, where there’s just four other idiots waiting for their turn with the infamous Park Jihoon.

Which, of course, doesn’t fucking happen.

“Let’s get lunch?” Woojin suggests after they finish a cigarette and stomp it out in the middle of their carnage.

Jihoon is reaching in his pocket for his pack to pull out another. “Do we have time?”

Woojin checks his watch. “It didn’t take us that long. We’ve got thirty minutes.”

This makes Jihoon pause. He studies the five cigarettes he has left, then folds over the top and pockets them. “Alright. Lead the way.”

About half way to the cafeteria, Woojin realizes that Jihoon had meant that he lead the way quite literally. Because it’s clear at that point that Jihoon has never been to the cafeteria. Woojin tries not to be angry about it, but he does end up buying Jihoon’s food.

 

 

Monday comes and there’s still six of them, but one of them is on the baseball team and he brings his bat. Because that’s responsible. But Woojin couldn’t have expected anything else. Thankfully, the fucker swings too wide the first time, and he goes down with a single left hook.

“There will be seven next time,” Jihoon says, and then he smirks. Woojin makes sure not to stare too long because he’s pretty sure he could fucking drown in it. “Are you sure you want to keep this up? You can bail on me. It’s still early.”

“I’m good right here. Thanks.”

 

 

There are seven, just as Jihoon predicted, the rest of the week. By Friday, no one watches when Woojin follows Jihoon out of the classroom when he’s called out and no one glares at Woojin when he returns with Jihoon after lunch. Woojin doesn’t hide his smirk, though he makes sure to do it only when Jihoon isn’t looking.

 

 

After two weeks of the same damn routine, it’s a Thursday, and no one comes for Jihoon. Instead, Woojin and Jihoon grab food in the cafeteria and they eat on the rooftop alone.

“Do you think they’re done?” Woojin asks. He sets down an ashtray he stole from the teacher’s lounge.

“Fuck no.” Jihoon gets a cigarette started for them, passes it over. “They’re just now realizing their strategy isn’t working, and maybe that you’re not going anywhere for now—”

“I’m not going anywhere, period.”

“Yeah, whatever, you do you. They’ll be back. When I first started, it was just one every so often. The first was probably the worst because I actually thought that maybe I could tell someone and I’d get help, but no. Not here, at least. At my last school, it just took the one.”

“This happened at your last school, too?”

“Just once.” Jihoon stares at the ground for a long time, and although he’s probably hoping Woojin will move on to a different topic, he has a feeling that Jihoon isn’t done. He starts again after a while. “He was my friend. We were skipping gym, hiding in the locker room. We were both expelled. Here I am.”

Woojin swallows. He can tell Jihoon doesn’t want sympathy by the way he chose to tell him what happened, so he doesn’t offer it. “Why…did he?”

“Ha.” Jihoon messes up his hair. Then he worries his lip. He’s silent for a long time, and Woojin wants to take back his question. “I told him I was bi like a week before. At the time, I had a crush on him, and I think that was my way of testing out the waters? Seeing if maybe he was interested, too? And from his reaction, I thought he might be. He just wasn’t … He wasn’t interested in dating me, though. He was interested in fucking me, and he didn’t understand why I didn’t want to. I think he understood my fists, though.”

“And you were expelled?” Woojin gives the cigarette back to Jihoon.

His hand is shaking when he takes it. “Because we were caught fighting, yeah.” Jihoon shrugs like he doesn’t care. “Now it looks like I have a big fucking sign on my forehead that says come and try me.”

“Most people in this school are just pieces of shit,” Woojin says. “That’s all it is. It’s not you. It’s just a bunch of motherfuckers who saw something pretty and haven’t ever been told no.”

“Pretty, hm.”

“That’s what I said.” Then Woojin realizes what he said. Fuck. Time to try to backtrack. “N-not that I think you’re pretty, just that they must think you’re pretty.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jihoon says. “I’ve looked in a mirror before. I know I’m good looking. Good to know you agree.”

“I—” At this point, there’s probably no use in denying it. “I have eyes.”

Jihoon chuckles, which tells Woojin he said the right thing. He tips his head back, and his Adam’s apple rises and falls as he laughs, eyes closed, smile stretching his cheeks. Beautiful. Then Jihoon pins him with that smile, shoves him in the arm.

“Fuck off,” he says, still laughing a little. “You should get out before you fall for me.”

“Fall for you?” Woojin scoffs. “Not happening.”

“No?” Jihoon leans over until his shoulder is pressing into Woojin’s arm. His face is too close. His lips are too close. “You sure?”

“Never been more sure. And did you brush your teeth this morning? Your breath smells like a dying cat.” Woojin has never been more aware of how warm another human body is until Jihoon moves away.

“I brush my teeth twice a fucking day, you ass.”

They eat and continue to bicker until lunch is almost over. Woojin gets up, then helps Jihoon to his feet. “You’re sure it’s not over?” Woojin asks.

“Positive. Why? You ready to go back to being a complete loner?”

“I already told you that you were stuck with me. Accept it already.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you on your death bed.”

“What if you die first?”

Maybe it’s the way that Jihoon looks at him that makes Woojin want to take Jihoon’s hand, but he doesn’t because he knows it’d scare Jihoon, knows that what he’s feeling would scare him shitless.

“I won’t,” he says.

Jihoon smiles, the soft kind that melts Woojin’s heart. Because Woojin is so completely fucked. Because Woojin is falling in love with someone who’s so entirely unattainable that he has to laugh at himself. Because he’s okay with that. Because as long as Jihoon is smiling, nothing else fucking matters.

 

 

No one comes for Jihoon the next week, either, but Woojin notices one of the boys in their class following Jihoon out of the classroom a little too closely after school ends. It’s a Friday and Woojin is pretty sure Jihoon’s got his first goddamn stalker.

So Woojin bumps into the kid hard enough that he stumbles a little, then throws an arm—as loosely as he can—over Jihoon’s shoulders. He tries to ignore how well Jihoon fits next to him and how right it feels to have him so close. “Let’s hang out.”

He also smells good.

“Let’s what.”

“Hang out. You heard me.”

Is it his hair? Is it just him?

“I just have no fucking idea what you mean.”

“Have you never had friends?” Woojin raises an eyebrow at Jihoon, and maybe it’s a mean question, but he also gets a chance to glance at Jihoon’s would-be stalker. Yeah, still there. Fucking hell.

“I _have_ friends. From my old school. I know what hanging out means, but it’s the fact that it came out of _your_ mouth that’s tripping me up here. You want to what with me.”

Wait, what. This needs more investigation. “What do you mean you have friends from your old school? You’ve never mentioned them.”

“Why would I?”

“Because we’re friends.”

Jihoon curls his lip. “We’re what.”

“Friends. Do I need to spell it for you.”

“I’m at the top of our class. I know how to spell the word friends. I’m just really confused by the context. The word is coming out of _your_ mouth, and it seems like you think we fit that definition.”

“So we spend every lunch together because we hate each other. Right.” Woojin rolls his eyes.

“Isn’t that what it is?”

“Then let’s hang out.” Woojin drops his arm from Jihoon’s shoulder and stuffs his hands into his pants pockets. He sticks close to Jihoon as they walk out of the front doors of their school and head toward the school gates. “Do you play video games? I’ve got a nice set-up at my house.”

A long pause stretches between them. Maybe Woojin shouldn't have invited him over. Would it be weird for Jihoon to be alone with him in his house? Maybe an arcade would be better. Or a café.

He bumps into Jihoon’s arm lightly to get his attention. “Or—”

“Sure,” Jihoon says. He licks his lips. “I’m good, though. You sure you want to play against me?”

“Do I need to remind you that we’ll be playing the games I own? That I play every night?” Woojin grins, and he’s not sure if it’s because Jihoon said yes to spending time alone with him or if it’s because he likes the idea of beating Jihoon. “You can invite your friends if you want. I want to meet these people. Park Jihoon’s elusive so-called friends.”

“If they were available to hang out, I wouldn’t be going home with you.”

“Rude.” Where Jihoon usually takes a right to go home, Woojin tugs him left toward his own house. He glances behind them and, of course, the dickwad is shadowing them.

Is this asshat stupid enough to hang around Woojin’s house until Jihoon leaves? Is he being this obvious because he’s been subtler before and was never caught? Does he already know where Jihoon lives, his schedule, his routine?

“They’re in cram school. We usually only hang out on weekends now.”

“What’re you doing tomorrow?”

“Okay, now you’re being weird. What the fuck is going on?”

“What? I can’t just want to spend time with you outside of class?” Woojin glances at Jihoon to see how well that one landed, and it did not land well at all by the disgusted look on his face. Time to go with the truth. “There’s just a kid from our class following you, and maybe I’m a little worried it’s more like stalking than normal following. Don’t look.”

“Oh.” Jihoon looks away, but Woojin is sure he saw his face fall a little. Is he sad that he has a stalker? Woojin can’t imagine it’s a nice feeling to know you have someone following you around. “Unless it’s a new one, he’s been following me for a few weeks. Nothing I can’t handle. Is that why you invited me over?”

“I’m worried.” Then, because he doesn’t want Jihoon to think he doesn’t want to spend time with him, because he definitely does. Even if spending more time with him will just dig Woojin into a deeper hole where he’s in love with someone who will never like him back. “But also I wanted to hang out with you. It’s both.”

Jihoon shrugs. “You worry too much. I sent that one to the hospital, but his dad’s a lawyer who’s friends with the principal so he didn’t get expelled. He’s either learned his lesson and wants to admire me from afar—which is whatever. Creepy but better than before. Or he’s being even creepier and I’ll get a chance to beat his face in again.”

“How about I just go beat in his face right now?” Woojin turns on his heel, but Jihoon links their arms together and pulls him back forward.

“Or not,” Jihoon says. “Do that in public and I’ll be playing games alone at your house and that sounds boring as fuck.”

“But if you do it in public? When he finally decides it’s time to go after you?”

“Self-defense. I know the laws.”

“I don’t like it.”

Jihoon hugs his arm, and fuck it if that doesn’t quiet Woojin right the fuck up. Heat crawls up his neck, up his cheeks, and he fucking hopes Jihoon doesn’t notice. Thankfully, Jihoon looks set to keep his gaze forward. He’s always looking forward.

“It’ll be fine,” Jihoon says.

Because Woojin is whipped as fuck, he lets it drop there because Jihoon is resting his head on Woojin’s shoulder and the silence that falls between them is comfortable and also perfect for imagining all the ways Woojin will fuck up anyone who tries to lay a hand on Jihoon.

 

 

Next Wednesday, Woojin has successfully convinced Jihoon to start coming to his house after school every day, if only to save Woojin from getting a shitload of wrinkles. His parents both have to work late today, so Woojin makes them instant noodles.

They eat, they wash the dishes, they finish their homework, and because it’s still early, they watch a movie. Maybe Woojin sits a little closer than necessary. Jihoon doesn’t move away, though.

 

 

A week goes by, and going home together becomes one of the most natural things in the world. It’s a Friday, so Jihoon stays later than normal. When he decides to leave, everyone’s asleep already.

“Why don’t you just spend the night?” Woojin asks although he knows it might make Jihoon uncomfortable. “You can take the bed. I can sleep on the floor or I can take the couch or something. I don’t know if you should walk home this late.”

Jihoon is putting his jacket on and getting his backpack. “I’ll be fine. It’s not really that late. If it was, I’d take you up on your offer.”

Everything in Woojin wants to fight him, but he knows he won’t win. Not with Jihoon. He’s too fucking stubborn and he likes winning way too much to give in.

“Fine,” Woojin says. “But what if I just go home with you instead and I sleep over so we can bum around all day tomorrow?”

“Or you could just come over in the afternoon, since we both know that’s when we’ll wake up.” Jihoon shrugs on his backpack, then heads to the front door. Woojin follows “You’re worrying too much again, Park Woojin. What did I tell you about worrying too much?”

“You told me to stop, and then you let me talk you into coming over every day, so I figured I could at least talk you into letting me walk you home so we can continue to prevent me from getting wrinkles in my young age.”

Jihoon shoves his feet into his shoes. “But then you’d have to walk all the way home. That’s stupid.”

“So let me sleep over. Then it’s not stupid.”

“Fuck, you’re persistent, aren’t you?” Then Jihoon is grabbing Woojin by the shoulders, squaring him up, looking him straight in the eyes. “Next time, we can just plan for it. This time, you’re going to live with letting me walk home alone.”

Like fuck. “Fine.” Woojin pulls him into a hug. “But I get one of these, then.”

Although Jihoon stiffens a little at first, he sighs, relaxes into his arms. Woojin’s heart thuds painfully in his chest when Jihoon wraps his arms around Woojin’s middle and hugs him back. Somehow, Jihoon just fits. He rests his head on Woojin’s shoulder, and Woojin tips his head so his cheek is pressing against Jihoon’s hair. Then he shrinks a little, tucks his head into the nook of Woojin’s shoulder, and all Woojin has to do is tip his chin just a little so he can set it on the top of Jihoon’s head.

“Be safe,” Woojin says, but what he really wants to say is _I love you_.

“I will. Text me when you’re on your way over tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Then Jihoon is out of the door and Woojin is racing to the window to watch him walk down the street. Once he’s out of sight, Woojin throws on a jacket and stuffs his feet into a random pair of shoes. By their tight fit, he’d guess they’re an old pair or they’re his father’s. He races down the street as quietly as he can until he catches up to Jihoon.

But Jihoon is nowhere in sight.

Maybe he was walking quicker than normal. Maybe he started running at some point. Maybe the worst didn’t happen and Woojin is doing just what Jihoon accuses him of—worrying too much.

So Woojin keeps walking. He walks all the way to Jihoon’s house. He doesn’t see Jihoon’s light on, so he calls. There’s no answer. He calls Jihoon’s older brother, who answers with a voice husky with sleep. He’s a light sleeper and Jihoon always complains that he wakes up when Jihoon gets home.

“Woojin?” he asks. “What’s up? Does Jihoon need a ride home?”

Fuck.

“N-no,” Woojin answers, breathless. “He fell asleep. I wanted to let you know he’s spending the night.”

“Oh, okay. Sure. Thanks for letting me know. And thank you for taking such good care of him. Jihoon talks a lot about you, you know. He likes you a lot.”

“I like him, too. I’ll let you get back to sleep. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, see you soon.”

Woojin is running. He’s retracing his steps. He’s glancing down alleys. He checks the parks. He wanders into a bar, and before they ask him to leave, he asks if they’d seen any kids walking around recently. They haven’t. He tries Jihoon’s phone a million times. Eventually, it goes straight to voicemail. He has no idea what to do or where to go, but at some point, he realizes running around without a plan is stupid.

He has to think.

Think like a piece of shit. Think like a stalker. Where could this asscan possibly take Jihoon? Someplace where no one would be. Someplace that Woojin hasn’t looked. Somewhere close enough that Jihoon would’ve been gone already by the time Woojin should’ve caught up with him.

So he goes all the way back to the spot where he expected Jihoon to be when he headed out after him. He roams the neighborhood, eyeing each lighted window. It wasn’t impossible that the kid lived in one of these homes. But how could that kid get Jihoon to go with him anywhere? Jihoon could take that kid even on his worst day. Maybe he had a weapon? Maybe there was someone else with him?

Woojin ends up in front of their school. It clicks.

He hops the fence and sprints to the front entrance. The door is open. He hurries down the hall, up the stairs, and to the roof. He hears the fighting before he opens the door. There are five boys trying to take down Park Jihoon, and there’s five littering the ground. They all turn to him when he lets the door slam behind him.

“Woojin,” Jihoon says. There’s blood dripping down the side of his face. His jacket is missing. His knuckles are raw. There are red marks on his neck that look like fingers.

He’s going to kill every single one of them and he doesn’t give a shit what happens to him. He grabs the closest dirtbag and takes him out first. Not with one punch, but with several because he can only stop himself when another one of them is ripping him away, trying to hold on to him so another can land a punch. It stings, of course, and so do the next five punches he plows into Woojin’s face and the two he shoves into his stomach, but the bitch ass behind him isn’t nearly strong enough to keep him still for long. He rips an arm out of his grip and elbows him in the fucking nose.

It definitely crunches, and there is blood fucking everywhere.

Woojin follows that up with a knee to his stomach and then, when he’s down, a kick in the ribs. That’s when the other douche is back for more. He’s a big guy, so although Woojin gets in more punches, this fuck stain’s probably doing more damage. Woojin has never been in so much pain in his life, but he’s never wanted to actually kill someone before, either. He finds that adrenalin is more than enough to keep him going until there’s only Jihoon left.

Jihoon, panting, bleeding, takes his hand. Woojin is shaking, and he’s not sure if it’s still the adrenalin, if he’s still scared shitless, or if it’s because Jihoon is okay.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” he whispers.

“No,” Woojin says, almost snarls. “I’m fucking in love with you.”

Fuck, what did he just say?

“Right, that’s what I said. You’re _stupid_.” Jihoon takes Woojin into his arms, now, and holds him until both of them are able to breathe properly again. Even then, Jihoon doesn’t move to leave the embrace.

So Woojin doesn’t, either. He moves hair out of Jihoon’s face to see the cut on his forehead. Although it bled a lot, it’s not too bad. He runs his thumbs along Jihoon’s brow bone, his cheek bones, his jaw, his nose, waiting for the hiss that will tell him where Jihoon’s going to bruise the worst. None come.

“It all hurts,” Jihoon clarifies.

Woojin taps Jihoon’s forehead with his own. “I told your brother you decided to spend the night.”

“Persistent as ever.”

“Because I’m in love with you.”

“Because you’re _stupid_.”

Woojin rolls his eyes, then his hand finds Jihoon’s again. “Let’s go.”

Back at Woojin’s house, they take off their jackets and shoes quietly. Then Woojin guides Jihoon into the bathroom, sits him on the toilet, and digs around for the first aid kit.

“Take your shirt off,” Woojin orders as he starts cleaning up Jihoon’s face.

He expects a bit of a fight, but Jihoon unbuttons it slowly. Slowly enough that Woojin catches himself staring a few times. He really had seen abs before. As slim as Jihoon might be, he’s lean and athletic and Woojin wants to fit his hips into his hands. His right side is blossoming in a bruise already, and there’s a dotting of a bruise nearly healed on his left. It actually hurts him to see the deep purple of old clotted blood beneath the surface of Jihoon’s skin. Each bruise is a universe that Woojin wants to disappear with his lips.

Woojin sighs when he’s done cleaning his wounds and fixing him up with bandages. “You’re a mess.”

“You’re not any better. Sit. It’s your turn.” He stands without warning, and he’s almost close enough to Woojin that they could kiss. But he puts his hands on Woojin’s shoulders and forces him to sit on the toilet instead. “Shirt.”

Since Jihoon hadn’t complained about undressing, Woojin can’t either. Jihoon’s touch is careful, soft. His gaze is focused as it sweeps over the cuts and scrapes on Woojin’s face, the bruises starting to discolor his tan skin. He’s never seen Jihoon look more beautiful than this moment—his skin is glowing in the light with a sheen of dried sweat, he has dark bags under his eyes because it’s three in the morning, his lips are chapped and he has a cut on the right corner of his mouth, but the only thing he’s looking at or thinking about right now is Woojin, and his eyes are soft because of it.

“I love you,” Woojin says again. He puts his hands on Jihoon’s hips. His skin is hot on his palms. “I love you.”

“You’re stupid. You’re really stupid.”

“You don’t have to answer me,” Woojin says. “I’m not like your friend. I don’t want in your pants.”

“I know. _I know._ ”

“But I just need you to know that I do. That I love you with everything I have.”

“I know.”

Woojin lets his hands fall. “Good.”

Jihoon finishes with Woojin’s wounds. They pick up their shirts and go to Woojin’s room. He tosses Jihoon a spare pair of pajamas, then he moves to the door, but Jihoon catches his wrist before he can open it.

“You can stay here,” Jihoon says, and it’s almost a whisper. “I don’t mind sharing the bed, if you’re okay with that.”

“That’s asking a lot from a man who’s in love with you.”

“Boy.”

Woojin grunts. “Rude.”

“I…” Jihoon’s gaze drops, and for the first time, he looks defenseless in front of Woojin. As much as he’s seemed like this entire situation didn’t affect him at all, he doesn’t look like that now. “…I don’t want to be alone. And I trust you. Should I not?”

If Woojin could fall in love with Jihoon all over again, this would be the moment it’d happen. “Of course, I’ll stay.”

They change into pajamas, then Jihoon gets into Woojin’s bed and Woojin follows him in. They lay side by side, staring at the ceiling, not saying anything, until Jihoon’s fingers entwine with Woojin’s under the covers.

“Woojin.”

“What.”

“I love you, too.”

Woojin cannot breathe for a few seconds. Then he’s grinning. Then he’s laughing. Then he’s wrapping his arms around Jihoon and pulling him close and puzzling their bodies together. “You’re stupid, too.”

“I am. We’re stupid together. Are you going to kiss me now?”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve wanted to do since I took your first cigarette from you?”

He answers with his lips on Jihoon’s and, although his lip is split and a tinge of pain makes him groan, Jihoon’s are soft and pliant. Their mouths open against each other and their tongues, warm, slick against each other. Thrill sparks in his blood, hums under his skin, when Jihoon sucks on Woojin’s tongue before Woojin moves to nibble Jihoon’s bottom lip gently.

Jihoon says against his lips, “Thank you for being there every time I needed you.”

“I’d say you’re welcome, but I’m not done being there for you every time you need me. Thank me on your death bed.”

He feels Jihoon’s smile, and he’s not sure if there exist anything that feels better than that smile against his own.

 

 

On Monday, Woojin and Jihoon walk into school hand-in-hand and they don’t give a fuck who sees them, who says what, or whether people care. They’re in love and they’ll fucking fight anyone who dares try to take them on.

 

 

 

∞

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know how to explain this one other than when inspiration arrives, you go with it. come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/slackeuse) or [cc](https://curiouscat.me/slackeuse) or hanging out with [daquad](https://twitter.com/daquadtm)!


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